


last ones out

by lesbianenderman (eghed)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M, Slow Dancing, TENDER!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eghed/pseuds/lesbianenderman
Summary: “Where’d you find this record, anyway? Another antique?” Nureyev exhales strongly, a half-laugh.“Twenty-first century,” he says. Juno whistles a low note. “I just found it. I saw it in a shop when we were on Venus and I thought the album cover was neat. I actually purchased it with money, for once.”





	last ones out

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this as swift as the wind and with shaky lesbian hands, compelled and sponsored by the mournful music of mitski. the record in this story is, of course, be the cowboy, and the final song is two slow dancers. i recommend listening while you read. please let me know about any grammatical errors! i did not take great care as i wrote this.

There’s a gentle hum that accompanies the moving of a ship through the daunting silence of space. You don’t notice it until you’re alone, entirely alone, and your thoughts are too rumbling to even bother with. Here sits Juno, in the observation deck, a bottle in his hand and grimace on his face.

It’s times like these he finds the slow and steady passing-by of the stars to be his only comfort. Makes him feel like the universe hasn’t completely stilled around him, forces him to know that it won’t. He can’t let it. 

The observation deck was one of the first rooms Jet had showed him on his tour. At the time, all he could see out of it was the red Martian sand flying around the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the well-worn sectionals and smears of fingerprints on the glass gave him an impression of familiarity. He’d never been much of a space kid, but he was never one to object to a good view. And object he does not, laying and drinking in the passing twinkles. 

Footsteps. The sound of an electric door whirring open, a small intake of breath. 

“Hello, Juno,” Nureyev says quietly, “what are you doing here?”

Juno shrugs without looking at the man behind him. Nureyev is silent for a moment, awaiting a response, but it’s apparent the effort wasn’t a lasting one as the sound of shuffling feet and a heavy object being set down is heard.

There’s some fiddling, a little bit of clicking, and finally the unmistakeable sound of a stylus coming in contact with a record. Juno lets himself turn around.

“Where’d you find that?” He says. His voice is scratchy from lack of use. Nureyev looks back at him with his big owl eyes and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’ve had it for a while,” he says. The music is starting, a long and dissonant chord. “I wanted to see if it would actually work. I haven’t had the chance to test it.”

Juno nods. They look at each other for a moment before Juno turns back to his watch. He takes a sip from his bottle. 

“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore,” Nureyev says. Juno laughs a little and holds out his beverage. 

“Cream soda, man, don’t worry.” 

Nureyev’s eyes twinkle as he cracks a smile, a real one with all of his shark-teeth. Juno wonders if he files them. 

“I’m proud of you,” He says. 

Another silence. Juno stares out into the vast sky and feels the seat shift as Nureyev climbs down, a few cushions away from him. The side of him facing his comrade is practically tingling, itching to scoot closer and lean a head on a shoulder, but he remains. He takes another sip. 

They’re quiet through many of the songs. An entire planet floats lazily past in the distance before Juno inhales noisily. 

“Where’d you find this record, anyway? Another antique?” Nureyev exhales strongly, a half-laugh.

“Twenty-first century,” he says. Juno whistles a low note. “I just found it. I saw it in a shop when we were on Venus and I thought the album cover was neat. I actually purchased it with money, for once.” Juno can’t help but grin at that.

“You’re going soft,” He says, mockingly gruff. They both snicker at that. The song changes, then, to low synths in a 3/4 time signature. Juno finds himself looking at Nureyev once again, and he’s being looked at in return. 

“Dance with me,” he finds himself saying. Nureyev stiffens, and Juno is fully ready to backtrack, but his counterpart wipes his palms on his pajama pants and stands up. He offers a long, knobby-fingered hand. Juno accepts it and hoists himself up less than delicately. Nureyev smiles—a strange smile for the situation, completely lacking in sarcasm. Juno looks down at their feet. Nureyev is wearing bunny slippers.

“Hell of a shoe choice,” he remarks. Nureyev settles his arms around Juno’s shoulders and crosses his wrists behind his neck. “If I step on your feet, I’ll feel like an even bigger jackass than I already am.” 

“You are a jackass,” Nureyev says, but his tone is light. Juno chuckles and, before he can think better of it, leans his forehead against Nureyev’s chest. The hands around his neck shift, now gently holding his upper back. They sway.

Juno takes in the music. The synth hasn’t changed, no percussion or anything. It’s simple and quiet, but so... something. Something so familiar he swears he must have heard it before, swears he must’ve written it. 

He thinks of Ben, momentarily. He thinks of the Times Ben made him practice with him for a partner’s competition, laughing and knocking things over in the kitchen as they swirled around. They were gonna get their asses handed to them later, but all that mattered was the moment. Juno, and someone he loved very much. Juno, and someone he would lose. 

He takes a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s barely a whisper, but he feels the fluttering in Nureyev’s ribcage. He can feel him trying to stop dancing, so he slides his hands soothingly where they’re resting on his waist. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, louder, because it’s not all he has to focus on. “I did something awful to you. I was selfish. I couldn’t think of anyone but myself. If I could go back, Peter, believe me, I would, but I can’t. All I can do now is ask you to forgive me.” 

Swaying to the synth. Peter’s hands tighten on his shoulders, and then they aren’t swaying, they’re just embracing. 

“Oh, Juno,” Peter says. Juno lets out a sob and buries his face in Peter’s collar. He breathes deeply, he memorized the smell. “Oh, Juno. Of course I forgive you.” 

Juno lifts his face. Peter’s eyes are closed tightly, cheeks damp and hair messy. Juno thinks back to when they met. Not a hair out of place on that head, nor on a then-clean-shaven face. The cologne. The suit, the shoes, the jewelry. 

The Peter Nureyev from then is completely different from the Peter Nureyev now. His hair is longer, he has a scrappy mustache, he’s in his pajamas, he smells like he hasn’t showered since this morning. He’s leaning in to kiss Juno, and his hands are in Juno’s hair, not his pockets. Juno’s, in turn, are still around that waist, and he has no intention of moving them for a long time. 

And the stars float on.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @joaquinterrero and my twitter is @touchtonereggie, say hi anytime! comments make my whole day!


End file.
